


The Sky Could Be Blue

by JudeAraya



Category: Glee
Genre: Community: kbl-reversebang, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2004522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JudeAraya/pseuds/JudeAraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships with the Winged are as close to illegal as can be, but when Kurt Hummel hires Blaine Anderson to walk in his runway show, neither can deny their instant chemistry. Soon what started as furtive motel trysts becomes more complicated as their feelings deepen, threatening Kurt's rising career. In an effort to hold on to what they have, Kurt offers Blaine an interlude: a trip somewhere in the world where they can be together without fear, even if only for a few weeks. </p><p> </p><p>  <a href="http://s1088.photobucket.com/user/JudeAraya/media/Mobile%20Uploads/image_zps8045c425.jpg.html"></a><br/><img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sky Could Be Blue

**Author's Note:**

> I am so indebted to the incredibly talented magicalplaylist for this art. If you had bet me a million dollars a year ago (well maybe a thousand), I would have claimed I'd never write a wingfic! It's amazing what stunning art can move you to do! As it turned out, we both seem to have a love for Coldplay; this art, which was inspired by Death and All His Friends, which in turn inspired a lot of this fic. And, titled it (listen to the whole album, but if you're curious about the title, it's from Strawberry Swing). 
> 
> This fic had the support of some wonderful people: my lovely beta, gingerandfair, who gets top praise for putting up with me, as well as Wordplaying for helping me navigate London, knittywriter for helping me figure out Paris, and lurkdusoleil for last second hand holding and for schooling me on m dashes.

“He’s too short,” Kurt says, fingering the corner of the photo.

“Trust me,” his assistant, Siobhann says. “At least give him a second look. His wings -- you can’t really see what I mean in this picture -- but trust me, they are perfect for the show.” 

Kurt sighs and flips the comp card over to the maybe pile. “Okay, show me the next one.” 

~*~ 

“Hi!” Blaine shakes his hand and smiles self consciously. “I’m Blaine Anderson.” 

“Yes, I can see that on your card,” Kurt says. “Alright, you’ve been fitted,” he looks up then and frowns, because the clothes don’t fit even with clothes pins gathering the fabric. His body is all wrong. Kurt resists the urge to rub his temple. Cattle calls always give him stress headaches. “Badly.” 

Blaine smiles: it’s winning, bright. He’s obviously a showman and able to ignore Kurt’s brusque manner, which he appreciates. He’ll need models who can put on a show and shake off the repercussions for what Kurt’s trying to do. 

“Let’s see how you walk anyway.” Kurt sits back. 

Despite the ill-fitting clothes, Blaine is able turn something on, something serious and sensual and intense. It suits what he’s been put in; Don has picked one of the darker looks and Blaine embodies it fully; his eyes and face and body transform into something concupiscent. Kurt hums a little under his breath. 

“Come over here,” he says, gesturing to the space in front of the table. “May I see your wings?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

Kurt stands, taking them in from the front, then working his way to the back. They’re a luminous white, more pure that any of the other models he’s seen today. “Wingpsan?” 

Blaine dutifully unfolds, muscles of his shoulders rippling. Kurt stands back a bit. It’s a shorter wingspan than the taller models, which actually works well for certain looks. Kurt leans forward when he sees a hint of color. 

“What’s-?” 

“Come around,” Blaine says, amusement coloring his voice. 

“Oh my,” Kurt says. On the inside of his wings, scattered just above the fringed bottom edges is an array of jewel toned feathers. “That’s- I’ve never seen that before.” 

“My mother had them. It’s not common,” Blaine says. Unthinking, Kurt reaches out, then pulls back quickly. 

“I’m sorry, that was so rude.” 

“It’s okay, I grant you permission,” Blaine offers. 

“I’ll honor them,” Kurt recites the formal pledge. The winged might occupy a lower station, but some traditions persist. Blaine shifts and spreads his wings a little more; the feathers are really only hints of color tucked into the white; spread as much as he can, they’re a little more visible. Kurt strokes a deep purple feather slowly, then along the line of color, some almost covered by white, tracing the pattern of colors. “Beautiful.” 

He can already see what he’d put Blaine in, how he’ll adjust it a little for Blaine’s size. 

“Thank you,” he says, standing. Blaine’s eyes are wide, clover honey gold in the sunlit room, and he’s breathing a little funny. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” Blaine clears his throat, “just sensitive. Especially when I’m feeling something strongly.” He folds his wings and tucks them close. 

“What are you feeling then?” Kurt asks, then winces at the intrusive question. 

“Nervous,” Blaine answers honestly. 

Kurt smiles, looking Blaine over more carefully, taking in his features and how he carries his body. He turns to Siobhann. “Yes.” 

Blaine smiles then again, truer than the one he’d forced earlier. “Yes?” 

“You understand that there is most likely going to be a lot of backlash,” Kurt asks. Blaine nods with a small smile. “Probably more so for me, though.” 

“Yes,” Blaine says. 

“Well, then. If you’re willing. Blaine Anderson,” Kurt holds out his hand to shake, “welcome to the show.” 

~*~ 

“Oh my god, this insanity. What was I thinking?” 

“We have no idea,” Siobhann says dryly. She bumps the back of his hand with a cool water bottle which he takes gratefully. 

“This is going to ruin my career, isn’t it?” Kurt asks. The label of the bottle rips easily under his worrying thumbnail. 

“No.” She squats to look him in the eye. “You’re taking a risk using the winged. It’s an incredible gamble, but it’s _right_. It’s what the clothes need, it’s what’s going to make your career. It’s what makes you the _best,_ because you do the things no one else will.” 

“Okay,” Kurt says, taking a deep breath. He stands, smoothes the lines of his jacket in front of a brightly lit mirror. “You’re right. Let’s go.” 

~*~ 

“Kurt!” 

Kurt turns from the model in front of him, dodging feathers, mouth clamped around pins. All around is the cacophony of pre-show tension, of too many bodies rushing in various directions. He hears three separate people calling for him; feels the prickling of anxiety in his stomach. The air around him is rich with anticipation and nerves; there isn’t anyone here who doesn’t realize how far he’s pushing the envelope with this show. At least the shocked buzz created by the spread of word that he’d planned to use the winged as models has garnered him a lot of attention. Hopefully, his craft will speak louder than the taboo. 

“Kurt--” Siobhann calls insistently. He sighs and pats his model’s shoulder gently. 

“You look great. Go to Don for finishing touches.” 

“Kurt, this isn’t working, the fabric is bunching and I--” 

“Siobhann,” Kurt interrupts, “take a breath.” He turns to the model, evaluating the drape of the shirt -- Siobhann is right, it’s not fitting properly. Kurt tries not to blame the model’s size for the problems. “Blaine is it?” 

“Yes,” Blaine says. His wings are tucked up close to his body. Kurt can’t tell if it’s stress or to protect them from the jostle of bodies around them. 

Kurt turns him toward the mirror, fingers tugging and manipulating the iridescent fabric. It’s different, working on a model around wings. He’d definitely set himself a challenge -- no matter though. The moment it had rushed through him, the initial spark that inspired this collection, he had known there was no other way. No way to capture the expression of transformation, progression and fluidity that the clothes had demanded, than by using the winged. He’s always traveled to his own beat anyway. 

Blaine watches him solemnly, eyes tracking Kurt’s movements in the reflection of the mirror. His eyes are vibrant, dark rimmed just by his lashes, shimmering white sweeping out, his skin scintillating; glittering. Kurt forces himself to focus. For a while, a stolen moment, Kurt is able to block the noise and rush, focus on the fabric in front of him, and the molding of his vision in fabric and on this body. 

“Alright,” he says, straightening. He stands next to Blaine, evaluating carefully. “I think we’ll be okay. Come to me as soon as they put the second and last looks on you, first thing.” 

“Yes.” Blaine smiles and takes a deep breath. For the first time Kurt manages to really focus on him. 

“Nervous?” Kurt asks. 

“Yes,” Blaine admits honestly. “You?” 

Kurt hums, stands back to examine the back of the look. Blaine’s been told how to hold his wings for each look; for this one, how they need to tuck, creating the illusion of romance and the white swan. Kurt smoothes the fabric around Blaine’s wings; Blaine inhales sharply and Kurt remembers too late that Blaine had said he was sensitive. 

“My apologies,” Kurt says softly. He looks over Blaine’s shoulder and in the mirror their eyes meet. Blaine leans back a little, into the touch, and something hot and sharp and _good_ gathers in Kurt’s stomach. Deliberately, Kurt does it again; this time he tucks his thumbs under the edges of the slits left for Blaine’s wings. It’s soft but unmistakable, Blaine’s low groan. 

“ _Kurt!_ ” Somewhere in the chaos his name pierces the bubble around them. Kurt snatches his hands back, fingertips burning and head spinning. 

“I’m sorry I-- I know,” Kurt stutters, dropping Blaine’s gaze. It’s not forbidden, but where they live, it’s as close as it can get. Maybe it’s the intensity of this moment, on the cusp of a show that could make him or shatter his career. Regardless, Kurt backs away unsteadily, face on fire, skin on fire, trembling inside, and turns to find the voice calling his name. 

~*~ 

“Kurt.” Blaine bumps into him, rushing to get to him between models and bodies. 

“Oh this looks better,” Kurt says. “Thank god.” He adjusts the neckline of the top, evaluates the asymmetry of the collar and the darts of gold woven almost imperceptibly into the black fabric, curving up to create the illusion of fading shades along Blaine’s wings, cimmerian then sooty and grey gold and silver, then the almost imperceptible scattershot of color. It’s the final look; it has to be perfect. Blaine’s eyes positively glow, the honey-hazel of his irises fierce in shades of inky makeup; the dreaming nostalgia of the white swan become something edging erotic, ferocious and sinister and stunning. 

Music throbs around them, a gathering force of notes and steady beat, a building toward the climax of the show. 

“Blaine, we need you,” Don informs them. 

“Just a second,” Kurt tugs Blaine’s sleeve nervously. “Remember, keep your wings close until the end of the runway, and go for dramatic, really-” 

“Kurt,” Blaine puts his hand over Kurt’s, “I know. _I know_. I won’t let you down.” 

“Okay,” Kurt says and lets Blaine go. 

~*~ 

There’s nothing like the moments after; coming out from backstage, the wash of applause, the feeling of excitement and shock in the air. 

Backstage is loud, frenetic with congratulation and post show adrenaline and Kurt feels absolutely _high_ , untouchable and incredible and when he sees Blaine, unstoppable. He hugs his models and assistants and when he gets to Blaine, doesn’t hesitate to whisper in his ear, “Come to me after.” It’s some rebellious force, whatever is charged between them, and Kurt could care less that he’s crossing more than taboo if he does this. 

“Yes,” Blaine says low and urgent in his ear. His fingers press into Kurt’s back and Kurt’s whole body cries for more of that electricity. 

~*~ 

They speak quietly at the after party. Here, having been in his show, it is acceptable for the winged to mingle, to speak freely; an exception to normally rigid rules of conduct. It’s strange and surreal, to see two worlds so segregated meeting like this. But it offers good cover. 

“Do you live close to the border?” Kurt murmurs. Blaine sips his champagne and shakes his head. 

“No,” he glances sideways at Kurt, body language casual. “I doubt you do. You don’t seem like you live on fringe.” 

“I’ll admit that I don’t,” Kurt says. It’s not a secret he’s done decently for himself financially. Well enough to not have to live by the border. “I used to. I’m not unfamiliar. Do you know where The Wilkes is?” 

Blaine turns to him, evaluates Kurt’s expression. “What time?” 

They won’t be out of here soon -- at least Kurt won’t. “Tomorrow evening?” 

Blaine smiles. “You have my number.” 

Sibohann is beckoning him from across the room. Kurt winks, then stands, and feels the weight of hours between this and the promise of what’s next. 

~*~ 

_Kurt: 303_

Blaine: I’m five away. Leave the door unlatched. 

Kurt puts his phone down and shudders in a breath. He’s had hours to come down from the high of his show, hours to rethink this choice. Hours feeling the steady coursing of something he’s not felt before in his blood. He shouldn’t do this -- discovery would be disastrous for his career and reputation. But desire is barreling through him, an irrepressible train, and he knows he won’t stop it. Can’t. 

Kurt opens the door, wedges the swing bar in it to prop it open, then rechecks his appearance in the mirror. His hair is more casual than he wears it professionally, still styled but more tousled, and his clothes a good deal more informal. Fit to accentuate his body, sexy but uncomplicated. His cheeks are red and when he hears the squeak of the door opening, he feels that hectic flush spreading. 

~*~ 

The first time they fuck is almost too fast. It’s frantic and a little rough and they barely make it to the bed. Kurt pushes Blaine against the door almost as soon as he comes in, then frames Blaine’s body with his forearms. 

“Hi,” Blaine manages faintly. Kurt hears the rustle of feathers. He leans in, inhales at the junction of Blaine’s neck. He wants to _bite_ it, to wreck him. Formalities, though, his brain supplies through the fog, should be taken care of. 

“May I--” 

“Oh god, shut up and kiss me,” Blaine manages, cupping Kurt’s face with a hot palm when Kurt does, lips open and hungry. He presses into Blaine further until Blaine breaks away with a gasp that’s half pain and half laughter. “Careful please.” 

“Oh,” Kurt says dumbly. He hadn’t considered the logistics of sex with someone with wings. “I’m sorry--” 

“It’s okay,” Blaine slips out from between the door and pulls Kurt toward the bed, against his body. They’re undressing before they’ve taken two steps further, hands frantic, something wild and tempestuous between them. Blaine’s cock in Kurt’s hand is bigger than he’d anticipated, curving perfectly into his palm, hot and Kurt’s mouth waters with the desire to suck him in, to taste the length of him. 

When Blaine pushes him onto the bed, Kurt groans lightly, then pulls Blaine up by the hips; Blaine barely manages to get a condom on with shaking hands before Kurt is opening his mouth for him. Kurt urges Blaine in and in until he’s fucking his dick into Kurt’s mouth with increasing urgency, fingers in Kurt’s hair pulling him closer. He closes his eyes and soaks in every sensation, the sound of Blaine’s ragged breaths and low groans. It’s sloppy and fast and unbelievably, head spinningly, good. 

~*~ 

“That was…” Blaine rolls onto his side, head cushioned on one folded arm. 

“Yeah,” Kurt stares up at the ceiling, catching his breath. He’s damp with sweat and the residue of come left after they’d hastily cleaned off with the corner of a sheet. 

“I didn’t think we’d make it.” Blaine gestures toward the door. 

“We might not have, but I have no idea what’s in that carpet,” Kurt admits. 

Blaine is silent for a long moment and after a few seconds Kurt regrets his comment. This hotel is cheap by his standards; straddling the border, it exists for few things other than what they’re doing. Kurt’s never been over the border, but knows by reputation what it’s like. The winged don’t have access to the things he does, resources of jobs or education. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“Don’t be,” Blaine says easily. “The carpet _is_ gross.” 

Kurt laughs lightly. He lets himself look at Blaine differently for the first time. Not appreciating his body as a model, as form to showcase his clothing, but as a lover. He skirts his hand up Blaine’s arm and shoulder, up his neck and traces the bow of his lip. He leans in, slowly this time, to brush his lips against Blaine’s mouth. It’s different. Like melting a little, like warming against each other’s skins, bodies more malleable as they come closer. 

“Kurt--” Blaine breaks away with a gasp. 

“Tell me this is okay,” Kurt says, kissing his cheekbones and ears. Blaine rolls over him a little and Kurt takes the opportunity to run his hand up the dip of his spine. He’s not used to having the weight of a man over him; it’s always made him feel a little penned in, and even when he’s bottomed, he’s always done it from the top. 

This though, he doesn’t mind at all. Blaine’s body on his is delicious and fits him perfectly; the beauty of his face is highlighted by the halo of light around his head cast from the motel lamps. 

“ _God,_ ” Blaine grinds down against him, “I don’t think I’ve had a recovery time like this since I was a teenager.” 

Kurt spreads his legs and smiles against Blaine’s skin, fingers pulling him in bruising hard, cock filling slowly but surely against Blaine’s. 

~*~ 

“I have to go,” Blaine’s voice is quiet. They’re in the dark, just breathing together. Blaine is wrapped perfectly in his arms, feathers tickling the back of his forearm whenever Blaine shifts. 

Kurt looks over at the window. The drapes are pulled, but through a crack he can see the sky is beginning to lighten. 

“Blaine,” Kurt stops him with an open palm on his shoulder when Blaine shifts to sit up. “Will you see me again?” He can’t help but ask, can’t help but feel the chasm of hunger inside; he’d thought this would fill it. He’s not sure now, after a night with Blaine, what will. 

“Kurt,” Blaine says, then kisses him. “Of course. _Yes._ ” 

~*~ 

There are various motels dotting the long line of border, and they meet in all of them. When they start repeating, they have to plan differently, more carefully. They rent separate rooms, they meet only in darkness. They come together over and over, and Kurt doesn’t think it will ever end, can’t imagine this hunger ever abating. 

~*~ 

“What would you have been, if you didn’t go into fashion?” Blaine had asked one night, fingers running through Kurt’s hair, against his scalp. Kurt had closed his eyes helplessly into the feeling and begun to prepare an answer. 

~*~ 

“I don’t think I can come tonight,” Kurt says into his phone softly, biting his lip. 

“Oh.” Blaine doesn’t ask why. No matter. Blaine doesn’t need to say more, because Kurt can hear the disappointment and the undercurrent of something he can’t quite pinpoint rich in his voice. They’ve made no promises to each other, so there’s not really anything else he could say. 

“I’m sorry. Don’s noticed something’s going on. He asked me about it. He wants to go to dinner tonight. 

“Dinner?” Kurt wonders if that is jealousy in Blaine’s voice. 

“With friends,” he says quickly, then mentally kicks himself. 

“Okay,” Blaine says simply. Softly. 

“Are you alright?” Kurt can’t help but ask. 

“Of course,” Blaine does something with his voice, making it brighter, infusing it with something happier. Kurt’s pretty sure it’s not genuine. He’s seen first hand how quickly Blaine can transform. He doesn’t know Blaine well enough to be able to discern over the phone what’s real or not, but he suspects this isn’t. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” 

“I--” Blaine says, then swallows. “I’d like that.” 

~*~ 

Kurt thinks dinner will be good, a chance to immerse himself in his life, with his friends. Maybe forget a little, about Blaine soft against rough hotel sheets, eyes sleepy and inviting, muscles quivering in the after. 

“What are you working on now?” Jared asks. Kurt forces himself to pay attention. 

“Hmmm?” Kurt frowns at the lettuce at the bottom of his salad bowl which refuses to cooperate with his fork. 

“It’s been a few months since the show. I assume you’re working on something, you always are.” 

“Oh,” Kurt doesn’t want to admit that he’s been distracted and has not so much as opened his sketch pad in weeks since the show. “It’s been a little busy since the show. It’s not nearly as fun, but the business monster must be fed as well.” 

Siobhann winks at him from her end of the table. Kurt’s not sure what it means; his cheeks heat a little and he looks down. He’s made so many excuses for absences to her he knows she’s curious. But she’s seen the changes in his mood; he feels lighter than he ever has, incandescent with the lingering imprints of Blaine’s fingers and lips on his skin. The happier he is, the happier she seems to be. 

“Well and…” Don says, then trails off. They all know where he’s going with it, and a silence falls over the table. There’s no need to let the elephant in the room sit quietly in the corner. These are his friends, the people he works with. Kurt trusts them with his vision, the things he creates, his business. 

“The fallout?” he supplies. 

“It’s not that bad,” Don offers inanely. Kurt nods. It’s not. It’s nothing they hadn’t expected. But expecting something and experiencing something, it turns out, are vastly different things. He hates acknowledging the thinning of his skin as a result of the intense scrutiny and criticism his work has received. Still, there’s been a lot of positivity, a lot of buzz and awe and a fantastic increase in business and opportunity after the show. 

Not everyone had loved it, or even liked it, especially those on the extremes, the most die-hard segregationists. There’s nothing that can be said or done, Kurt knows, to change their views. Dealing with the mud slung from factions so negative isn’t something he should invest energy in. He knows himself. Kurt Hummel wasn’t made to do anything by halves, wasn’t intended to do anything the safe way. He wanted this show to push people’s boundaries, to open their minds and create _art_ , and it did. 

Still. Things so close to the heart are tender, and Kurt is too. If there’s ever a place to expose how challenging this has been, it should be here, with his inner circle, those who believe in him most. 

~*~ 

“Tell me about your family,” he whispered against Blaine’s belly late one night, quivering through the shocks of something that had been unexpectedly tender and almost too intense. 

~*~ 

“Hi,” Blaine’s voice carries through the phone; he sounds better, more himself. 

“How are you?” Kurt says. _I miss you_ almost slips out. Kurt squints into the bright setting sun, trapped in traffic, alternating between too hot from the rays heating through the windshield and the bitterly cold air that emanates from his windows. 

“I’m…” Blaine says. Kurt listens carefully to the pause. “I’m alright I think. I didn’t get the role I auditioned for.” 

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt says softly. 

“It was a long shot anyway,” Blaine says. 

Kurt glares at the line of brake lights in front of him. He’s tired and overwhelmed by a new flood of media outrage spurred by the news that Marc Jacobs had picked up his line. 

“Can I see you soon?” It’s hard to ask, and he’s not sure why. They both know that something glows too bright between them, something they can’t extinguish. They just never say the words out loud. 

“Yes,” Blaine says simply. “Please.” 

Kurt exhales and closes his eyes. The imprint of sunlight echos behind his eyelids. 

~*~ 

Kurt checks the cheap clock next to the bed, red lights informing him it’s only eleven. Blaine’s voice comes clear from the shower; he’s left the bathroom door open. From the bed Kurt can see wisps of steam rising above the line of the shower curtain. The fan kicks on from the unit by the window; the thermostat is set to heat the room but his body is still feverish and lined with sweat. Kurt shivers and thinks about joining Blaine, how might seem too familiar or domestic. He smiles and rolls off the bed, and when he flicks the shower curtain back, Blaine’s smile is the most welcoming part of his day. 

~*~ 

It’s still cold when Kurt exits the bathroom. He finds Blaine in bed, tucked under the covers, remote on the empty space next to him. Kurt pulls on his boxer briefs and crawls under, curling against the furnace of Blaine’s body heat, slipping neatly into the pocket of warmth around him. 

“What are we watching?” he asks. _We_. Kurt closes his eyes briefly and has to tamp down the urge to squirm happily, but Blaine doesn’t seem to notice. 

“The Flash.” 

“I’ve never watched this,” Kurt frowns a little. It’s not really his sort of thing. 

“There’s not really much else on,” Blaine offers by way of explanation. Kurt tucks his head neatly against Blaine’s neck. He doesn’t care, he realizes. It’s enough to lay quietly with him. 

~*~ 

“Vogue wants to feature us,” Kurt says breathlessly into the phone. 

“Us?” Blaine asks. 

“The line. They want the models; they said they want to maintain the integrity of the vision. I think it’s Anna’s way of putting a foot down.” He laughs at the liberty he’s taken using her first name. It’s incredible to him that Vogue would do this. His show is not the only thing heating up the debate over segregation and winged rights. But it’s definitely been making news, somehow ripples from the stone he’d dropped in muddy waters growing over the course of months, just another set of waves set off around the same topic. 

“They want models,” Blaine says carefully. Kurt knows work has been scarce for Blaine. He gets by teaching music, but it’s not his dream. Money for arts education in the winged sector is scant; Blaine’s never sure how long he’ll have a backup. 

“The original models,” Kurt says. Vogue hasn’t specified that at all, actually. It’s what Kurt insisted on. It’s not charity but a part of his vision. But there’s something very tenuous between him and Blaine that Kurt doesn’t want to unbalance. The offer of anything that might be _seen_ as charity would be too much. 

“Kurt!” Blaine squeals then. “Oh my god are you kidding?” 

Kurt laughs, buoyed by Blaine’s enthusiasm. “Of course not silly! How can they capture the essence of my vision otherwise?” 

Blaine just giggles helplessly. “Kurt Hummel, are you asking me to capture your essence?” 

_You already have._ Kurt bites that back. It’s ridiculously sappy and over the top. When it comes to romance, he’s prone to such things. Of course, he’s good at internalizing them; he’s good at waiting, channeling that energy and enthusiasm when he touches Blaine. 

~*~ 

Kurt lets himself in quietly. He’s late -- it’s past one in the morning. He’s been texting Blaine off and on. He would have called the whole thing off, only it’s been two weeks and he just plain _misses_ Blaine. 

Blaine’s sitting on the bed, facing the window. The blinds are open, the dark pressing into the room. Only the light spilling from the bathroom door guides him. Kurt crawls up on the bed next to Blaine, wrapping his arms around him; Blaine sighs and leans into him, body sagging so that Kurt has to adjust to bear his full weight. 

“Are you alright?” Kurt asks gently. Blaine inhales, a shaky breath that tells so much. 

“I miss the sun,” he admits. “It’s been grey for days. I don’t know why that makes everything so hard.” Blaine turns so his cheek finds the smooth skin of Kurt’s neck, and his lips brush the underside of his chin when he whispers. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he says. 

“I am too,” Kurt whispers back. His arms pull Blaine in tighter because he feels Blaine’s need. He’s not sure he understands the shape of it, just senses the edges ragged with something like sadness. He leans down, kissing Blaine’s ear and behind it softly. Blaine moves his hands, covering Kurt’s with them, guiding them slowly across his body. Blaine shows Kurt what he needs then easily, spreading his thighs a little when he puts Kurt’s hand over his crotch. He moans a little, tilting his head to expose his neck. Kurt’s other hand he rests over his chest and Kurt imagines for a moment that he can feel the rhythm of Blaine’s heart speeding to match his own. 

~*~ 

“What’s your house like?” Kurt luxuriates in Blaine’s skin against his. He wants to have a picture of Blaine in his home, natural and easy, tucked away. Outside dawn will break soon, and Blaine will leave again. Kurt waits for Blaine’s answer and thinks of these things, little morsels that keep him going more than the sex. Thinks of wanting to _know_ Blaine, and has to close his eyes because _this_ , the feeling bubbling under his skin in his chest, is not what he thought was happening, and he has no idea how to manage it. 

~*~ 

“I saw the headline,” Blaine says without preamble. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Kurt says. He runs his fingers through already messy hair. “It was only a matter of time, really, before someone started to make allegations. Opponents will do anything to smear my name right now.” 

“Right,” Blaine says slowly. “Well, it’s all very vague; nothing here anyone couldn’t have made up. Especially since they aren’t giving specifics. I just wanted to be sure you are okay.” 

“I am,” Kurt says. They’re quiet for a while. 

“Are you home?” 

“Yes, I just got in.” Kurt tosses his keys on the entry table and sighs. It’s good to be home. It’s so late, it’s been such a day. 

“I can only imagine what today’s been like,” Blaine starts. “I don’t want to bother you, I just thought I’d check in.” 

“You’re never a bother,” Kurt says softly. “I think…” he closes his eyes and swallows, “I think that hearing your voice is the only good thing about this whole shitty day.” 

“Kurt,” Blaine says quietly. 

“I wish I could see you,” Kurt admits. He can think of nothing more that he would like than to bury himself in Blaine’s arms, Blaine’s wings wrapped around them, sheltering him and shuttering out the whole disgusting world he’s found himself in today. 

“I know,” Blaine says. Every time Kurt looked outside today, all he’d seen was spitting snow. It’s been the most unrelenting, brutal winter he’s ever known; it’s almost March and it feels like it will never end. Blaine’s voice is rich; it spills through the phone into Kurt’s body like thawing and somehow everything is more bearable. 

“Did you get outside today?” he asks. He opens the fridge to find it mostly empty. His cupboards are bare. He finds an old package of microwave popcorn. 

“Too cold,” Blaine says. “When it gets this cold it’s just dangerous unless you have a really good wing cover.” 

“You don’t?” Kurt pops the microwave door shut. 

“They’re…” Blaine pauses and clears his throat, “they’re pretty pricey.” 

There’s a long silence in which they both understand how much Kurt wants to give Blaine the things he needs. 

“It’s late, do you want me to let you go?” Blaine finally says. “I know it must have been a horrible day.” 

“No,” Kurt watches the bag of popcorn jitter and fill. “Will you watch a movie with me?” he asks impulsively. 

“Umm, I would think it best after today to avoid-” 

“I mean, like, Skype or something. I’m making popcorn. Maybe...it’ll feel like I’m with you a little?” Kurt grips the phone tightly. 

“I think that sounds...I would love that.” 

Kurt sighs gratefully and counts the seconds between pops so he’ll catch the popcorn before it burns. 

~*~ 

“Do you think anyone saw you?” Blaine gasps. It’s been so long since they’ve been together; there is no hesitation, no desire to slow this down. There will be time after. Now, Kurt can only fill what’s been aching for days with Blaine’s skin and sweat and the long slick slide of Blaine’s cock deep in his own mouth. Kurt doesn’t stop to answer, just closes his eyes and draws Blaine closer, hands cupping the fat swell of his ass. Blaine groans and puts his hands on Kurt’s shoulders, and until the moment just before the fall, doesn’t speak again. When he does, it’s Kurt name, chanted high and threaded with wonder. 

~*~ 

“Siobhann covered for me,” Kurt says finally. They’re on their sides facing each other in the dark. Blaine’s nothing more than a silhouette. 

“Do you think… that article yesterday--” Blaine hesitates, and Kurt knows he’s choosing his words carefully. “Is that wise to involve someone? Because-” 

“Someone is leaking something to the press?” Kurt finishes for him. His hand is on Blaine’s neck, cupping his jaw carefully, and he feels Blaine’s nod. Kurt sighs heavily. “I don’t know. I don’t think it would be her. She’s been-” 

“I know,” Blaine says softly. 

“I have to trust someone. I _have_ to. This…” Kurt swallows heavily against the burn of tears. Right now, he’s not sure of anything but Blaine; trusting Blaine isn’t a question, it’s a fact. Kurt knows it like he knows the colors of his own eyes. 

“What are we going to do?” Blaine asks finally. 

“I don’t know,” Kurt says and it’s so quiet it’s hardly more than a whisper. He moves closer to Blaine, kisses him with apology, feels the sadness radiating off of him. He wishes so vehemently that this would be something he could fix, that he could somehow remold the world so that he could give Blaine every happiness he deserves, that he needs. 

“Kiss me,” Blaine begs when Kurt pulls away, “Don’t stop kissing me, and I’ll know it will be okay.” 

So Kurt does, pressing his skin against Blaine’s, and feels their bodies luminous with whatever it is they make together. 

He pulls away, smiling at the small noise of dismay Blaine makes. Kurt flips the bedside light on; it’s the nicest motel they’ve stayed at so far. They don’t talk about it much, Blaine’s tendency toward slight depression this winder, how he longs sometimes to sleep and sleep until the sun comes back out again. It’s late March, past the deepest months of winter, but winter’s been relentless this year. This room and their space are all Kurt has to offer, and he wants to gift Blaine every extravagance he will allow. 

“Let me see you,” Kurt asks. He pulls Blaine on top of him and smiles. Deliberately, he runs his hands around the base of Blaine’s wings; what he feels inside when Blaine inhales brokenly, helplessly pleasured, is complicated. It’s dark, it’s thrilled and powerful, it’s heady and awakens every bit of tenderness he has inside for Blaine. It takes a tremendous amount of trust for Blaine allow Kurt to touch him like this, in a way that is capable of bringing him to incredible heights of pleasure, but if he’s not careful, can also be very painful. 

Kurt doesn’t do this often -- he’s learning to balance giving Blaine the most pleasure he can without tipping him into oversensitivity. They don’t always have the luxury of time and what they learn from each other’s bodies comes quickly. Especially lately, at a stage when lovers begin to explore differently, they’ve been separated by more time as it becomes harder to meet. They come together in a rush, glutting themselves on each other as often as they can manage, seeking to pack every thrill in. 

And then too, there’s the moments between, the ones Kurt savors the most. When he can explore Blaine -- not his body but his self. They play little games, silly versions of twenty questions or sometimes their own version of The Dating Game, taking turns pretending to be three bachelors, each a different version of themselves. It’s a light-hearted way to get to know each other. Laughter is the best way they’ve found to gild the time they do have. 

But tonight, Kurt needs slow. Wants to drag out Blaine’s pleasure, wants to make this last as long as he can. After this day, with so much of the world telling them how wrong this is, he’ll be damned if he’s not going to prove, even if it’s just between them, that it’s _right_. 

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers. Blaine twitches and moans and when when Kurt runs his fingers along the radius of one wing, he comes suddenly all over Kurt’s belly. Kurt smiles smugly; when Blaine’s eyes re-open, hazy and wondrous, Kurt feel a little triumphant. 

“One down,” he says impishly, biting his lip in a way he knows Blaine likes. Blaine collapses next to him. 

“One?” 

Kurt runs his finger through the come pooled on his stomach and with his eyes on Blaine, licks it off slowly. Blaine groans lightly and kisses Kurt so hungrily he’s dizzy with it; so hard it’s almost impossible to hold himself back. The best part of having a lover with such sensitive wings, Kurt’s learned, is multiple orgasms. Nights like this, Blaine’s pleasure is even better than his own. 

“Let’s see how many times I can make you come,” he challenges. 

~*~ 

**IS IT TRUE?**

Kurt scans the headline with a sigh. There’s a photo of him, grainy and unflattering; he’s entering his new warehouse -- or soon to be warehouse -- in the picture. Of course, the location of the property within the fringe real estate near the border makes it an easy target for speculation. He remembers the day this picture was taken; he’s wearing a plaid fedora in bold colors in it. It had been a windy day; he’s holding his hat in the photo. To the world it seems like concealment. It fits the splashy headline so well. 

But it’s the subheadline that sinks into his stomach. 

_Trusted source confirms the shocking truth behind the rumor!_

Kurt jumps when his laptop screen is slammed shut. 

“Don’t,” Siobhann warns. “No good will come from reading it.” 

“What did they say?” Kurt asks, steel underpinning the sense of betrayal, coursing like lacework under his skin. 

“You saw the headline right? How much more did you read?” 

“That’s about it,” Kurt says, resisting the urge to snatch the laptop she’s tucked into her folded arms away from her. “I need to know what _they_ said. The source.” 

“It’s speculation Kurt,” Siobhann says. “That’s it.” 

_But it’s true,_ he almost retorts. Kurt trusts her, and is sure she knows anyway. But he can’t say it. Not here, where anyone could be listening, because obviously there’s someone here who can’t be trusted. 

“What did they say?” he insists. 

She sighs and sits down. “Mostly what’s been said before. Someone has noticed that you’ve been less social. They said you’ve not been working on new designs. But there was…” she looks away. 

“Yes?” he prompts. 

“There is a bit about how you seemed very friendly...maybe too friendly...with one of your models at the shoot.” 

Kurt feels himself pale rapidly. Fuck. _Fuck._

“Did they name anyone?” he manages carefully. 

“No. Thankfully.” 

He exhales and closes his eyes. When he opens them, Siobhann isn’t looking at him. She’s focused past him, sky a tumult of slate clouds and rain. He’ll be fine, he knows. He’s resilient, has always been able to make his way through such things through the colors and shapes his fingers create on pages and people before him. But this winter, he knows, has been hard on Blaine, the difficulty of secrecy and separation compounded by bitter cold and the grey that stretched on and on. Blaine had told him once how the winged naturally long for bright warmth, and how the pall of winter has always seemed to hit him harder than most. 

Summer is around the corner, and while that might have been enough to help Blaine a few months ago, that was before, when their relationship had been nothing more than sparks and hunger. But now it’s more, and sunlight peeking through pulled drapes in a hotel room isn’t going to be enough for Blaine. This is incredibly hard on them both at this point, but he’s been worried about Blaine’s slow slide into that depression. Kurt has no idea how to help him, not when he can’t _be_ with him every day, know what kind of support Blaine needs. They have to get away from this; go some place where he can take Blaine’s hand and lead him into fresh air. Kiss him on a street corner in puddles of warm daylight. 

“Kurt,” Siobhann brings him back with a careful tone. “We’re talking about the leak,” she reminds him. 

“Okay yeah. So...no names. _Yet_ ,” he fills in the blank. 

“I think you--” she blinks and draws herself up in the chair. “I think we need a plan.” 

Someone knows. Whoever this informant is, they know it’s Blaine; he knows he wasn’t as careful as he should have been at the Vogue shoot, too excited, so happy to share that moment with Blaine outside the shelter of their refuges along a sloppy border. It can only be so long before the other shoe drops, before the public will tire of the intrigue of the story and demand facts. 

“Yes,” Kurt says. Blaine’s there in his mind’s eye. Blaine in a house Kurt’s never seen but in words. Blaine whom he feels compelled to protect. “I have to talk to him first.” 

“Okay,” Siobhann says, then rises to stand. She lays the laptop back down on his desk. “Do me a favour though.” He nods to encourage her when she pauses. “Don’t read them. It won’t help.” 

“I’ll try,” he says honestly. She gives him a fleeting smile and closes his door on her way out. There’s no privacy here, not in his glass walled office. But the closed door offers a small illusion he needs, a semblance of privacy he has to hold on to in order to get through today until he can call Blaine. 

~*~ 

“Please just meet me,” Kurt begs over the phone. 

“Kurt, you can’t risk it,” Blaine is crying, and doing his best to hide it, but Kurt knows anyway. He doesn’t say anything. “Please, you have to be careful, this could ruin everything for you.” 

Kurt closes his eyes, feels the wood of his cabinet warming against his forehead. He’s forgotten to turn the lights on in the kitchen. Blaine says nothing of his own safety. Kurt knows that Blaine’s not even thinking of it. Knows how selfish he’s being because he’s _not_ just risking his career. It’s not just that with Blaine, Kurt breathes differently, breaths that make him feel alive and well and himself. 

“Blaine,” he says. “I need you.” _You need me_ , he thinks. 

“We need a new plan,” Blaine finally acquiesces after a long silence. 

“Yes,” Kurt agrees gratefully. “We’ll figure it out.” 

~*~ 

He wraps Blaine in his arms the second he’s through the door. Leads him to the bed where they lay facing each other. Blaine’s skin is soft, a revelation against his fingertips, and despite it all -- the mess he’s in and how hard it is to hide something so lovely and fulfilling in his life -- he feels so much lighter, truer in his body and at rest, when Blaine is with him. 

“I want to take you away,” he says simply. 

“I wish you could,” Blaine says, smiling softly. 

“No, I mean actually take you away, not metaphorically.” 

“ _Kurt,_ ” Blaine begins. 

“Let me take you to Paris,” Kurt blurts out. “We’ll go to London, I’ll show you Prague. Anywhere. We can sit on a beach on the Agean.” 

“Kurt you know I can’t afford that.” Blaine is frowning a little. 

“It’s different there. It’s not like here. We can be together, even if it’s just for a little while. _Please_. We need this. _I_ need it.” 

“I know,” Blaine says softly, brushing Kurt’s hair from his forehead gently. “I do too. But I can’t.” 

“They’ll ruin this, if we let them. If we can’t take some time to be without everything else weighing on us. I know the money...I know you don’t want to accept it, but Blaine, I have it. I have more than I need for me, and I want to give us this.” 

Blaine closes his eyes and sighs. His face is so beautiful in the warm light from the lamp, shadowed in places but also golden. After a few moments, his body relaxes under Kurt’s weight, face smoothing and when he opens his eyes, Kurt can see the flecks of green and brown, he’s so close. 

“Alright,” Blaine says, so quietly it’s almost lost in the big room around them. Kurt smiles, just a little, because he knows how hard it is for Blaine to do this. His heart is beating incredibly hard, the adrenaline of fear and anxiety and then joy making him feel shaky. They don’t speak of love; Kurt hardly allows himself to consider it, because if he did he’d have to think of the rest. Of the near impossibility of making it work, of the longing and desperation he feels when he sleeps alone at night. 

“You know the money is nothing to me right?” Kurt asks, needing to put it out there. “Nothing compared to you, to making this work.” 

“I’m trying to know.” Blaine says. He leans up a little and kisses Kurt softly. It’s hard to hear that even though he understands. Money can’t be nothing to Blaine, not in his situation. And he’s said before that he never wants Kurt to feel like he’s there for money, for connections, for anything material. 

Kurt kisses him back. It’s gentle at first, just the smallest pressure of lips together, until he sucks Blaine’s lower lip between his carefully. Licks the bow of his upper lip with just the tip of his tongue. Blaine tilts his head, inhales and opens his mouth, one hand cupping Kurt’s skull, confident and calming. Opens his lips and lets the heat pour from them, lets the kiss escalate until it’s so bright Kurt thinks it might scorch him completely, might burn so brightly. He’d let it, he _wants_ it, to be subsumed by this. By Blaine. 

~*~ 

“Where to?” Blaine asks later. The light is off now, and his face is tucked snugly into the curve of Kurt’s neck. 

“Anywhere we can be open,” Kurt responds. “We’ll research. Make a list. See how much time we have and what we’ve wanted to see.” 

“I want to see it all, with you,” Blaine admits, and Kurt just smiles. Smiles and lets his fingers linger against the skin of Blaine’s bicep. 

~*~ 

“Paris,” Kurt reads from his list. “London, and parts of Ireland.” 

“Oh?” Blaine says. He’s somewhere where the signal isn’t great, his voice has been cutting in and out sporadically. 

“Well and of course the Netherlands, Finland, Sweden, Norway. Greece is iffy depending on where you go-” 

“Yes, historical sites of origin are good, but crowded.” 

“Of course you’d know that,” Kurt feels silly for not thinking of that. “Well, how much time can you take?” 

“Depends on when we go. I have break in April, for a week, but that’s pretty soon.” 

“When does the year end?” Kurt knows Blaine picks up more work wherever he can in the summer, so taking too much time then will make things harder, financially. 

“Late May,” Blaine says. 

“That soon?” Kurt responds, surprised. 

“School is different on...side. Education...so they…” 

“Blaine-” Kurt interrupts, “you’re breaking up.” He’s met with silence and when he checks his display, he sees that their call has been dropped. He sighs a little and resigns himself to waiting. Blaine has work in a bit; Kurt knows he probably can’t expect a call soon. 

“Morning boss,” Siobhann breezes in. Kurt signals for her to shut the door with his fingers. She does carefully and drops into the seat across from his desk. 

“Want to help with a little research?” he asks. 

“Of course, I always do,” she responds easily. 

“Uh,” he says, thinking through what he’s about to ask of her. “Not work related, more...personal?” 

Her whole face lights up. Her eyes are bright today, contrasting with her black hair and the dark brown of her sweater. 

“Kurt, I can’t tell you how much I want to help,” she starts, and he laughs. 

“I think you just did.” 

~*~ 

_From Blaine: I can take two weeks, start of June_

Kurt smiles at the text, then pulls up the lists Sibohann had hand written for him. Without asking, she’d done this by hand, not wanting to leave evidence electronically. Two weeks is perfect for taking their time in both London and Paris, if he factors in the places they’ll see and the time they’ll want to spend on each. As well as time he knows they might get lost in each other, saturating themselves with days and nights uninterrupted. There are other places they could go, but Kurt doesn’t want to rush either of them, and hopes that this will be the first of many trips. 

_From Kurt: Perfect_

They’ve planned to meet that night. Kurt starts to draft a detailed plan, listing their options so that Blaine can offer input as well. 

~*~ 

“Here is your ticket information,” Kurt offers Blaine a packet with that and instructions for meeting him in London. “I’m sorry we can’t do this part together.” 

“Kurt,” Blaine says, curling his fingers around the papers, “I’m not. I can’t be. Not when I know we’re doing all of the rest of this together.” 

Kurt feels his smile, his too wide and unfamiliar unrestrained smile, curving along his face. He kisses below Blaine’s ear softly and pulls him as close as he can. It’s the hardest part for them, the moments before one of them has to leave. 

“I can’t wait.” 

~*~ 

London is wet; Kurt knows that’s not unusual. It’s hazy with glooming sun falling behind grey clouds, and while the rain seems to have passed, everything is pressed with the shimmer of water left behind. 

He’s hoped for sun, for Blaine. He knows he doesn’t need it like Blaine does; especially when they’re together. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Blaine tells him between unrestrained reunion kisses, “you’re all the sunlight I need.” 

Kurt laughs into the next kiss, happiness lays over his skin like Blaine does. It’s cheesy and lovely and perfect all at once, and even through the giggles that interrupt their mouths, they both know it’s true. 

~*~ 

They take a cab together, and it’s silly, how deeply gratifying it is to do a simple thing such as sit together in a car; to go someplace together. Kurt watches Blaine’s profile as Blaine takes it in. He’s exhausted -- knows Blaine is as well -- from the hours cooped up in the airplane, then those waiting for Blaine’s plane which came in an hour past his. He feels grimy, coated in recycled air and airplane germs, wilted in his clothes and in desperate need of a shower and some skin pampering. Of deep sleep in Blaine’s arms. 

“Kurt, oh my god look-” Blaine gestures and his excitement is contagious. London isn’t new to Kurt, but like this, watching it unfold for Blaine, it _feels_ new. He’s never shared anything like this before; his discoveries and travels have always been solitary. They never felt lonely, really. But this is something wholly new and enchanting. 

“Here’s us,” Kurt says when they approach the hotel. 

“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine whispers in awe. “Kurt, I-- this is too much, oh my god how much is this?” 

Kurt kisses his cheek. “That’s for me to know, and this--” he gestures to the hotel, “is for you to enjoy.” 

They step out one after another and are greeted warmly by a doorman, who takes their baggage for them. Kurt pays the cabbie while Blaine steps back, looking up and up. Kurt takes a moment to do so as well. He’s seen the building on earlier trips, but never stayed here. It’s beautiful, the wedge shape interesting and eye catching, and he remembers how the glow through the windows and the glitter of lights lining the edifice at night had allured. 

“The Corinthia Hotel’,” Blaine murmurs, reading the sign above the door. 

“Come on honey,” Kurt nudged Blaine gently with a hand on his lower back. The doorman is waiting patiently for them. “We’ll see it plenty, won’t we?” 

“Yes, I suppose so,” Blaine says, a bit dazed. He doesn’t say anything as they enter, just takes in the opulent appointment of the the foyer. The air is redolent with the scent of hyacinths overflowing in lavish groupings lining a table in the center of the room; it’s almost too much, but somehow perfectly balanced by the great round space and open air. 

~*~ 

“Wow,” Kurt almost lets the door close on Blaine when he enters the room, it’s so beautiful. He’s seen pictures -- when choosing where they would stay he researched intensively, wanting to get the best he could for Blaine, for them. Pictures, though, don’t do this justice. 

“Holy…” Blaine crowds him from behind; Kurt steps forward dumbly. He’s tired; this is almost overwhelming. Not just the gorgeous room, but the sense of incredible luxury, of the excess of riches; this hotel, this trip, but most deeply, the gift of these days with Blaine that stretch before him. 

“Kurt are you sure--” Blaine starts and Kurt whirls around. 

“Please don’t,” he puts a finger to Blaine’s lips to shush him. “Don’t ask any more. Let me give this to you, and please, just let yourself enjoy it. Let’s both enjoy it. Because this is for me too. I’ve never gotten to do this -- go somewhere with someone, enjoy these beautiful things with someone. I wanted this too; this was a splurge for me as much as you.” 

Blaine’s lips curve under his finger, and he kisses it softly. “When you put it that way--” 

“Yeah?” Kurt loops his arms over Blaine’s shoulders, kissing him with a quiet, searching, insistence. 

“I think you’re playing on my desire to give you things I can’t,” Blaine says, though he’s smiling when he pulls away. 

“I’m not playing anything,” Kurt says seriously. “I’m just here, with you.” 

They share a long look. 

“Alright,” Blaine says finally. 

“Good,” Kurt says decisively. “Now, I must unpack my toiletries and shower because I am disgusting.” 

“Oh god, a shower sounds like heaven,” Blaine moans. 

“And then,” Kurt looks for his bags, and finding them, carries the one for his toiletries to the bathroom to unpack, “I thought an easy night maybe?” 

“Excellent. I had the same thought on the plane.” Blaine says. He explores the bathroom while Kurt fusses with his products, arranging them carefully. When he looks up, he finds Blaine watching him in the mirror. 

“What?” he asks, a bit unnerved by the attention. 

“That--” Blaine gestures towards Kurt’s meticulous system, “I was just thinking about all the details I don’t know, that we don’t know, and how we get to learn some.” 

Kurt melts a little, the turns to Blaine. “Let’s shower,” he suggests, sliding over to him to slip the buttons of Blaine’s shirt free. When he’s done, his hands move around Blaine’s back to get those as well. Blaine’s feathers ruffle, wings stretching out a little, as if he’s settling into himself and the touch. Kurt can only imagine what the flight would have been like. Special seating for winged is all well and good, but only so much can be done on a seven hour flight. Although he probably could have stretched and moved once they were in London, Kurt doubts that a lifetime of guarded movements in unfamiliar spaces is anything Blaine can undo quickly. 

“Want to take a moment?” Kurt asks. 

Blaine pops his head into the stall, fiddling with the unfamiliar fixtures to get the temperature just right. “Oh! Rainfall shower head!’ his delighted voice echos in the shower chamber. 

“Oh my,” Kurt tries to peek over Blaine’s wings. 

“I have _always_ wanted to try one of these, I hear they’re so much gentler.” Blaine steps aside and makes a hand movement to usher Kurt in. Once Kurt’s in, leaving the door open a bit, Blaine takes a moment to unfurl and flex his wings -- the room is more than big enough. He sighs, closing his eyes, rolling his neck. Kurt rarely sees Blaine like this; he’s a little transfixed to be honest. 

“Do you think it would be too much if I gave you a massage?” he offers. 

“We can try?” Blaine says, carefully stepping into the shower so the water won’t spray off of his wings and onto Kurt’s face. “I think I’m too worn to get up to anything, and they’re less sensitive when I’m not - you know...” he waggles his eyebrows playfully, making Kurt laugh helplessly. He shuffles them around so that Blaine can catch the streaming water while he lathers his own hair. 

“Well, I’ll be honest and say that if we did, I’d be useless for a while after and then I’ll never be adjusted to the time difference.” 

“Yeah,” Blaine says. He bumps Kurt’s fingers aside, gently taking over the task, massaging Kurt’s scalp. 

“God,” Kurt says, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch, “if I were a cat I’d be purring.” 

“Oops!” Blaine catches a stream of soapy bubbles that slide down Kurt’s forehead, though not quickly enough. He guides Kurt under the water and starts to rinse his hair, making sure to clean off Kurt’s face. When he manages to blink his eyes open, Blaine is so close, body just millimeters from his. 

They bathe slowly, taking turns washing each other; it’s probably the most intimate they’ve ever been. It’s not sexual, but very tender, and it takes a lot for Kurt to let go of this last skin of privacy, to let Blaine’s hands cup him carefully, cleaning between his legs and then down the line of his thighs. To watch Blaine’s wings and damp shoulders as he lifts each of Kurt’s feet to wash them. He braces his hand against the wall to steady himself because it feels like he’s splitting open. 

“Hey,” Blaine says, brushing the hair off of Kurt’s forehead. “You with me?” 

“Yes,” Kurt blinks back the rise of tears; he’s exhausted and vulnerable and he feels so dangerously off balance. He clears his throat. “Here,” he holds up some shower gel, “let me.” 

Blaine turns obligingly, bracing his hands against the cool tile of the shower wall. Kurt moves slowly, using firm hands to slowly work the tension from Blaine’s shoulders. He does his best to avoid the sensitive skin at the perimeter of Blaine’s wings. It’s a bit of an awkward shuffle for Kurt; he’s never given a massage to a winged before, and he has to work around them a bit. Blaine doesn’t complain -- he’s far from complaining in fact, moaning a bit when Kurt gets to a particularly tense spot, or telling him when he needs more pressure. 

“If you--” Blaine says, slurring a bit, “I’m sorry, too much.” 

Kurt rests his forehead between Blaine’s wings. Blaine shudders then stills. 

“Let’s get dressed,” Kurt suggests. “We’ll go down and eat, the Massimo serves Italian which sounds so good. And after, I thought we could examine the hotel, go to the courtyard for a bit, and wind down.” 

“Courtyard?” 

“Yes,” Kurt shuts the water off, then hands Blaine a towel. “I saw pictures, it’s beautiful. They have a fire and you can have cocktails.” 

“Kurt,” Blaine wraps the towel around Kurt’s neck and pulls him forward for a kiss. “Thank you. I’ll never-” his voice breaks and he has to try again, “this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.” 

“Well,” Kurt says, running his fingers through Blaine’s damp, sweet curled hair. “Me too.” 

~*~ 

The courtyard is lovely. Lovely actually doesn’t even begin to describe it. It’s intimate, somehow in such a high ceiled place, it manages to capture a cozy and relaxing, lush atmosphere. Kurt and Blaine settle together on a loveseat by the fire; it’s elegant but still captures an outdoor feeling, a gazebo style canopy above them. 

“They serve high tea here too,” Kurt informs him, almost squirming with delight. 

“Oh my, this _is_ the hotel of your dreams. The proximity to Royals alone must have you near paroxysm of joy.” 

“I don’t even care if you’re making fun of me,” Kurt informs him. Their server comes with their drinks. Kurt had thought he’d go with a simple glass of wine, but had opted for something different after the waiter had described it; if there was a time in his life to try new things, this is it. 

“Oh my god, Kurt,” Blaine closes his eyes and moans dramatically. Luckily there is no one sharing the seats by the fire to give them odd looks. 

He totally understands though, once he drinks his own. “Blaine, oh god, this is absolutely ambrosia.” He sips it again delicately. “What the hell is this called? I can’t remember what he called it.” 

“Umm…” Blaine frowns. “Something with the word clover. It sounded good. I’ve never--” 

Kurt sighs; he relaxes into Blaine, he’s travel ratty but content. He’s always found watching a fire to be hypnotic, his eyes tracking the jump and dance of flames. They savor their drinks in silence. It’s so much to be here, people in and out, passing and chatting; the smell of cigar smoke from somewhere near by, and nothing is out of the ordinary. At least, to anyone else. It’s extraordinary, the freedom and the sense of normalcy they soak in. It’s as if no one sees Blaine’s wings. 

Well they do; it’s clear when they’re being examined. But it’s never intrusive, it never feels like it carries the weight of threat. Because here, it’s admiration. Blaine’s wings are extraordinary beauty, and it’s intensely gratifying to see other people appreciate them as he does. 

“I wish it was like this, always,” Blaine whispers. 

“Ambrosia, a fire, and my sudden tolerance of the smell of cigar smoke?” Kurt jokes. Blaine pauses and Kurt holds his breath, wondering which way the conversation will turn, feeling unprepared to acknowledge what Blaine meant, but terrified that if he lets it flutter by, he’ll lose this somehow. 

“And so much more,” Blaine says finally. Kurt closes his eyes and turns to tuck his face into Blaine’s neck. 

~*~ 

“I can’t believe I’m not too tired for this,” Blaine laughs between kisses. 

“I’m beyond tired,” Kurt brackets Blaine’s body between his strong thighs, “I’m somewhere else completely.” 

“It must have been the clover ambrosia,” Blaine says, then gasps when he pushes into Kurt gently, so slowly rocking them together. It’s sleepy and gentle and comes upon them like the tides; inevitable flooding of the shores, but with an ebbing and surging that cups them close. Eventually Kurt is so lax, body receiving Blaine so readily, it’s like melting, each touch vibrant and luxuriant and natural. When Kurt comes it’s sudden; Blaine’s not even touched his cock, has only been sliding their bodies together inexorably but softly. Kurt feels it in the pulsing of his body around Blaine first; he’s taken by surprise and he can tell by Blaine’s gasp and stuttering hips that he is too. 

“Blaine, _Blaine_ ,” Kurt chants through it, rocking his hips up harder, driving himself through and through it; and it lasts, his body some how drawing the pleasure out. It’s somehow the most gentle but most intense orgasm he remembers having. It lasts through Blaine’s shock, through the quickening of his movements as he tries to catch up, through his exclamation of stunned pleasure when he does come, holding himself so still inside Kurt, shaking apart in the fine circle of Kurt’s arms. 

~*~ 

“Despite how incredible that was,” Kurt says with a groan and a yawn, “this is disgusting,” 

“I’m sorry,” Blaine sits up, wincing sympathetically. “I was so tired, I can’t believe we just fell asleep like that. I can’t believe I’m up so early. I’m never up this early if I can help it, mornings suck” 

“We’re all fucked from the time change.” 

Mmm, talk about the fucking more,” Blaine jokes, then winces when he moves. “Never mind, this is gross.” 

“Tell me about it,” Kurt shifts uncomfortably; he’s sticky and crusted and _gross_. “I’m going to shower. And try not to think about the staff seeing this on the sheets.” 

“Kurt,” Blaine runs a hand down Kurt’s flank when he stands, “it’s a hotel. They see it all the time.” 

“I know,” Kurt says. 

Blaine follows him into the bathroom and uncaps the toothpaste while Kurt warms the shower for himself. “Besides, it’s not like we don’t leave evidence in motels all the time.” 

“This is fancier,” Kurt kisses him lightly before stepping into the shower. 

“So pretend it’s fancier come,” Blaine jokes, which is uncharacteristically crude of him. Kurt snorts out a laugh. 

~*~ 

“Where to today?” Blaine asks over breakfast. 

“Well, I know we said we’d keep our plans secret-” Kurt begins. He and Blaine had agreed to take alternating days planning sightseeing, “but I thought we could lay them all out now, to be sure we have no overlap.” 

“Sounds great. Here and Paris?” 

Kurt chews his omelette slowly, thinking it over. “Just here for now, maybe?” 

“Alright,” Blaine smiles at their waiter when he comes to refill their water. Ice clinks gently in the glasses, beautiful stemmed crystal Kurt is almost afraid to touch. 

“Blaine,” Kurt says, then stops. Blaine looks at him patiently. His eyes are more brown than gold today; everything about London is different, including Blaine. He’s so much more here. Holds himself differently, somehow more present and yet relaxed. “Paris...I booked something a little less, um…” 

“Expensive? Excessive?” Blain suggests. 

“Yes.” Kurt frowns. “Is that alright?” 

“Kurt, don’t be silly,” Blaine says, then takes his hand. Kurt’s thumb runs over his knuckles, testing the rise and fall of each one. “This is...beyond incredible. It’s almost too much to take in.” 

“I wanted to spoil you and-” 

“Kurt,” Blaine interrupts, “this whole trip is-- unbelievable.” 

“Well, yes,” Kurt concedes. “But you know what I mean.” 

“Maybe,” Blaine looks down, and Kurt can’t really read his look. It’s a bit of a reminder that stops him short. There are hundreds of ways that they don’t know each other; thousands even, minutiae of expression and action they’ve never gotten to experience. 

“Planning Paris felt different. Or I wanted it to be. Intimate in a different way,” Kurt explains. 

Blaine puts his fork down and dabs his lips carefully. His table manners are perfect, meticulous and incredibly endearing. “Whatever you want, I want,” Blaine says. 

“Blaine,” Kurt says, a little disquieted. 

“No I didn’t mean that how it sounded. I just mean...I’m along for the ride. I trust you. Everything this trip has to offer, I want to take it, gladly. I--” he stops, adjusts the exact placement of the spoon at the head of his place setting, “I had to acclimate a bit, to the whole idea. But..I just want to enjoy you. This.” 

“Good,” Kurt smiles, nudges Blaine’s foot under the table with his own. “That’s all I want. For us to enjoy every second of this.” 

He doesn’t say, but they both know, that they have to grab every moment they can, to hold on to as tightly as they can when they get home, to parcel out in memory to get them through. 

~*~ 

Their last day in London, Blaine chooses their destination. It’s been a wonderfully balanced trip; each of them has chosen destinations with the other in mind. Kurt’s seen some of it before, but it feels new with Blaine, like his wonder and eagerness gives it all a completely new flavor. 

“How did I not know?” Kurt says breathlessly, eyes transfixed on the sign before them gracing the Victoria and Albert Museum. 

“Because you picked things for me silly,” Blaine takes Kurt by the hand. He’s visibly as excited as Kurt, albeit for different reasons. “I had wanted to bring you here anyway, and when I looked into it, it was perfect because the exhibit opened early June, so it aligned with our dates.” 

“ _McQueen_ Blaine,” Kurt tries to catch his breath. “I should have brought my stuff, _oh god_ the things I’ll want to draw when we’re done.” 

“Oh,” Blaine stops, hugs Kurt tightly to himself. “ _Kurt_. I’m so happy to hear you say that.” 

Kurt blinks back tears. Of course Blaine would. He knows how much Kurt has struggled with being blocked, with months of feeling like nothing creative might come from him again. 

“You are just the most beautiful man,” he manages. 

“I brought stuff for you; it’s back at the hotel. I don’t know if it’s all right, I had to guess, I got a rough list from Siobhann, but I thought maybe, if this worked-” 

“ _Blaine,_ ” Kurt stops to kiss him. They’re blocking the stairs and people might be staring, and he doesn’t care. Blaine kisses him back the way Kurt feels; overwhelmed and desperately in love, kisses him the way they have been, speaking without words things they’re both scared to say. 

~*~ 

After, it’s almost too much for Kurt. He feels saturated in it, in the colors and the execution, in the raw edges and the painful echoes, the lovely, _lovely_ turns of whimsy. They exit the exhibit quietly and Blaine lets him walk, follows Kurt in silence as they traverse Brompton Road. 

“What’s this?” Kurt says when they reach a large entrance; tan and grey weathered stone with a deep arch. The windows on either side of the arch are curtained. Blaine steps back a bit and reads the heading. “Westminster Cemetery.” 

Kurt looks through the entryway; there’s a wide avenue leading to a domed, octagonal building. Flanking the path are grave markers; elaborate plinths and mausoleums, and beyond those buildings of similar style as the gate. 

“Want to go in?” Kurt asks. 

“Sure,” Blaine stops in the space under the arch, finds pamphlets that map the grounds, and historical information. “It’s open to the public. Apparently this is actually called the Brompton Cemetery.” 

Kurt starts to wander up the avenue, stopping occasionally to read inscriptions or examine the style of markers. 

Blaine flips through his literature. “There’s a list of famous people buried here. Is that something you--” 

“No,” Kurt says absently. “Let’s just look.” 

Blaine follows him and Kurt lets himself wander. He veers to the right when a side path comes up; he doesn’t feel any urge to visit the chapel. Instead, he breathes in the strange calm; they wander aimlessly. Blaine is quiet and Kurt gets the sense that it’s only because _he_ is quiet. Once off the avenue, he follows paved lanes until a narrow footpath through the grass appears. There then the cemetery takes on a lovely, shambled sort of look; its haphazard gravestones tilting at variant angles af they’ve settled. It’s crowded in places and the grass is tall. Purple flowers scatter through the grasses and in spots ahead and around there are lovely trees; gracefully old with long draping leaves and branches. 

Kurt stops when the wind picks up a little. Everything feels like it’s hushed but close around him. Even clouded over, the sky is a warm yellowish grey. He turns to find Blaine crouched low, reading the weathered and fading words on the stone before him. His feathers lift and ruffle in the breeze; they move slowly, almost like a heartbeat, like breathing; it’s not conscious. It’s nothing he’s seen before and Kurt wonders if Blaine even knows he’s doing it. 

“You never told me” he says quietly. It still startles Blaine a bit. 

“Told you what?” Blaine says, standing and brushing the knees of his pants where he’d gotten some dirt on them. Kurt tilts his head; catches the rich colors hidden inside Blaine’s wings. Traces the shape of the cupids bow of his lip and geometry of his eyebrows with his eyes. The light is palpably tinged; Blaine’s eyes are startling in color even from a distance. 

“What you thought of the collection.” 

“McQueen was a genius Kurt, I haven’t even formulated--” 

“No,” Kurt interrupts softly. “Mine.” 

“Oh!” Blaine bites back a smile and looks away; examines the horizon maybe. Kurt wants to step closer, but doesn’t. With everything between them; the nights spent lost to each other, and the lost nights without each other, he’s surprised now to realize they’ve never spoken of it. “It was incredible.” 

“Hm,” Kurt says, preening only a little. “Yes, it was.” 

Blaine shakes his head and steps toward him. “I always wanted to ask you more, though.” 

“More?” 

“So many critics assumed that you used us as angels,” Blaine says. Kurt rolls his eyes. “I know that’s not true; swans are far from angels. And that was only one look. Ravens. What was the one that looked like melting?” 

“Icarus,” Kurt says. 

“Then there was Zeus transforming,” Blaine continues. 

“I assume, with your heritage, you got that reference,” Kurt says dryly. 

“Myths Kurt, not truth.” 

“Isn’t it all myth?” Kurt gestures to the stones littering the ground around them. “Angels too. The symbolism of the birds.” 

“Transformation,” Blaine says, repeating what Kurt had stressed before the show. 

“In so many incarnations,” Kurt steps away, hands in his pockets, slowly pacing along the path. His shoes will be a dusty mess when they get back; hardly a worry here, when he’s sure the hotel has some way or one to take care of something like that. 

“What do you think happens Kurt, when we die?” Blaine asks at length. 

“That’s a big question,” Kurt says with a soft smile. Closes his eyes and thinks of the dresser far away in Ohio, in his father’s attic. Wonders at the persistence of her redolent smell buried in the drawers, a most treasured secret. “What do you think?” 

“I don’t know,” Blaine answers softly. They stop in front of a mausoleum. Its gothic style stands out amongst the more simple graves around them. Kurt reaches toward it, feels the warmth of the come and go sunlight soaked in. 

“It’s all energy,” Kurt muses. 

“Hm?” Blaine steps into his line of sight. He doesn’t touch anything, just takes in all the details. 

“Our bodies. Our drive, passions. What we create and who we are. Chemicals and reactions, cells regenerating -- oh all kinds of science I know nothing about.” 

“Hm,” Blaine acknowledges. 

“I don’t believe in God, you know,” Kurt admits. “Or any sort of afterlife.” 

“So then what happens to that energy?” Blaine continues the line of thought. 

“I don’t know,” Kurt says. He takes Blaine’s hand and tugs him away; the wind is rising a bit, cooling and on it’s edge Kurt tastes the promise of rain. “Energy can’t be destroyed, right?” 

“If one is to believe high school science, then no, it can’t.” 

“No matter,” Kurt waves this off. 

“Transformation,” Blaine muses. Kurt just smiles and remembers Blaine in that show, the chiaroscuro of greys and black and the contrasting white of his wings. The promises and hints, the jeweled colored streaks of inside his wings. Change is such a beautiful thing, even when it’s shape or direction are unknowable. 

~*~ 

They have plans for dinner; Blaine had chosen carefully for their last night. They leave the cemetery after a more silent exploration in order to clean up and get dressed. They pass under the great arch again. Blaine’s stored facts from his pamphlets he’ll end up sharing with Kurt late in the night over tiramisu cream kisses, coffee texture lingering in their mouths. Kurt will ask for more and more, Blaine feeding him bites, ankles tangling with Kurt’s with the sheets tangled around their naked bodies. 

But before that, early in the space between afternoon and evening, when they’re leaving the cemetery grounds, it’s different. It’s not playful; there’s something in the air between them. Kurt isn’t sure what it is, but he knows they both feel it. He can’t get a sense of its shape; testing a little, he reaches for Blaine’s hand. Blaine threads their fingers together easily with a secret smile and Kurt knows that whatever it is, it’s good. 

They get a little turned around looking for the tube, and Kurt can tell that Blaine is reticent to ask for directions. He wants to joke about it, to make a cliche of it, but knows Blaine’s had a lifetime of training to make himself as invisible as possible outside the safe zone of winged sectors. There’s no such thing here but it’s the same to Blaine, instinctively. Around him walk non-winged people everywhere. 

Kurt squeezes his hand and makes eye contact with a lady in a lovely coat headed toward them. She’s opening an umbrella, but stops with a smile. She’s graceful about giving them directions, in that she doesn’t laugh when she informs them it’s right behind them. 

On the tube, Kurt sits as close to Blaine as possible, keeping their hands together. He watches Blaine breathe through his discomfort and then transition slowly into a more relaxed posture. No one cares; that’s the beauty of this. Here they can be anything they want. As the carriage rocks through flickering light, Kurt can’t help but think of home. Now that they’ve had this, all the moments between sleep and waking, the little tics and insights into Blaine he’ll never get from scattered trysts in motels, he has no idea how he will give it up. 

Kurt can’t make Blaine’s decisions for him. He knows Blaine thinks more about the consequences of discovery for Kurt than himself. Perhaps it’s selfish that Kurt thinks of them both equally, how such a thing would impact them. Guarantees are impossible, and honestly, how they will make it work seems insurmountable. Interrelationships are nearly unheard of in the States. But for him, seeing Blaine’s hair escaping it’s gel around his ears and smilingly humming quietly as the carriage rocks and rocks them around corners, hurtling them toward the hotel is a revelation. For the first time Kurt truly understands that he’s all in. 

~*~ 

Blaine kisses him as soon as the door closes behind them and Kurt knows right away they aren’t making it to dinner. Blaine’s mouth is searching, desperate and painfully intense. It’s a bit like drowning, the way Blaine is taking him; manhandling Kurt toward the bed and out of his clothes, breath hot and wet as he works his mouth down Kurt’s neck and eventually his chest and ribs, hip bones and scorchingly, his cock. 

“Blaine,” Kurt moans helplessly. He needs the words, he needs to use them to explain everything to Blaine. He can’t though, not when Blaine pushes him so relentlessly against it, slamming him into pleasure after pleasure, gracelessly taking him apart. Kurt stops fighting it then; the words will come. Blaine can’t stop them coming forever, and Kurt knows his fear. Kurt knows how terrifying this is for Blaine -- it was for him too. But Kurt is done with letting fear make his choices. He’s done with feeling himself guided by something to insidious and damaging. Not when Blaine is here, when Blaine can be his. Not when he can fight for it. 

~*~ 

The light across the ceiling shimmers and undulates like water; Kurt’s sleepy eyes follow it’s movements. The curtains are still open, letting in all of the light through the floor to ceiling window that curve around their room. He should be wrecked, he knows, by the way Blaine just fucked him. But there’s something about the way he let Blaine take him, about how thoroughly Blaine did, that has actually calmed him. Grounded him and centered him, and has somehow managed to dismantle Blaine. Blaine is is shaking apart in Kurt’s arms -- he seems to be fighting hard against whatever it is that’s welling up. 

“Blaine,” he pets Blaine’s hair gently. Smoothes his fingers down his arms, kisses along Blaine’s hairline. “It’s okay.” He whispers it over and over as daylight waxes, as the room settles into the gloaming. Eventually Blaine’s heart rate slows, and his body stills. It’s a long time before he speaks again. 

“Blaine,” Kurt pulls back, one hand on Blaine’s cheek so that he cannot look away. “Blaine, you have to look at me.” 

And Blaine does. There’s fear settled around his eyes. 

“I love you,” Kurt whispers. Blaine closes his eyes and Kurt murmurs it again. He kisses Blaine between each declaration, softly. 

“Kurt,” Blaine’s voice is hoarse, “you can’t say--” He knows what Kurt means; knows what saying the words means. “Your career--” 

“I love you more than that.” Blaine makes a broken noise that Kurt tries to kiss away as well. “I love you more than anything.” 

“I don’t-” Blaine whispers, and Kurt wipes the tear that trickles from the corner of Blaine’s eye toward his ear with the side of his thumb. 

“You don’t have to make me any promises. You don’t owe me anything,” Kurt says fiercely. “You don’t. But I can’t not say it any more. I need you to know what I’m willing to do, and to know that no matter what happens next, I love you. _I love you_. 

Blaine opens his eyes; they’re dark and his lashes are clumped together. Kurt caresses his lips across the apples of his cheeks and absorbs the shuddering breaths Blaine takes. 

“I love you too, you know?” Blaine says. It’s not the same, they both know, as what Kurt was saying. But it doesn’t matter; none of it matters right now, except for this. Blaine leans down and kisses him; he’s laughing and crying a little and then Kurt is laughing too and it’s so bright between them, the sweetest ache warm and bright. 

~*~ 

“Paris will be a bit different,” Kurt reminds him. They’re mid flight; he’s been watching Blaine fight falling asleep for a good twenty minutes. It’s adorable but also a bit sad because the reason he can’t sleep is the cramped seating. They’re in designated winged seats, but they’re terrible -- Kurt hadn’t thought to check different airlines for design of their seats. He’s apologized profusely when they’d taken their seats, but he’s pretty sure it’s bothering him more than Blaine, who has brushed it off. 

They’re both exhausted; the night before had been very intense for them both. Sleep had not come easily, not until the latest hours of night. Instead they’d spent those hours watching each other, not speaking but communicating through small touches and careful kisses. 

“Different how?” Blaine asks. 

“The hotel won’t be the same-” Kurt starts. 

“Kurt, you know I don’t need that much, right?” 

“I know,” Kurt says, squeezing Blaine’s hand lightly. “I wanted to make this trip special. I thought it would be fun to stay in Montmartre -- when I looked into places to stay, it seemed perfect. So many things that we’d want to see, besides the obvious touristy stuff.” 

“Moulin Rouge!” Blaine says happily, and Kurt laughs. 

“Amongst many things. I have a list.” Kurt pulls up his phone, but Blaine just nudges it down. 

“Surprise me,” he says, then kisses Kurt as light as butterfly wings. 

~*~ 

“At least we’re used to the time difference,” Kurt offers on their way to the hotel. “An hour more won’t change much.” 

“No.” Blaine rests his head on Kurt’s shoulder. “But I’m still exhausted.” 

“Want to nap when we get there?” 

“God _yes_ ,” Blaine says, gratefulness laced with laughter. 

Montmartre is lovely and chaotic, buildings so close and stacked and unique. It’s incredibly different from London. Kurt had tried to chose the best of the best here, but also wanted something with a different tone. With a good location, things to see that would be off a generic tourist agenda. Of course, he thinks Blaine might want to visit the usual places, and he is okay with that. He’d gone his first time to Paris, taken a day each to visit the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame. This trip is a gift for them both, but these things are for Blaine. 

~*~ 

“This is lovely,” Blaine says quietly. The room is very modern; white and light greys, crisp geometric lines to everything. 

“Oh this is heaven,” Kurt stretches out on the bed with a groan; Blaine smiles at him indulgently, slowing drawing the curtains aside to take in the view. The bed faces the windows -- much like their room in London, there is a wall of windows bowing outward. Tucked into a tiny alcove next to the bed is a desk. Despite the clean lines of the room the way it’s set up feels cozy and private; Kurt can immediately see himself working there -- he’s been incredibly inspired since their trip to the McQueen exhibit and their foray into the cemetery, but hasn’t had a chance to really sit and work through the images and colors taking shape in his head. 

The bed dips next to him; Blaine lays on his stomach facing Kurt, eyes somnolent and contented. 

“Wait until you see the bathroom,” he whispers. 

“I saw pictures when I booked,” Kurt says. Blaine’s eyes smile before his mouth. 

“Pictures rarely do reality justice,” Blaine says. It’s barely a movement to kiss him, Blaine is so close. Kurt cups the back of Blaine’s neck and kisses him lovingly. He’s so overfull with the freedom to tell Blaine how he feels, searching for every way he can make Blaine feel it, feel safe within it. 

They fall asleep like that, foreheads tipped together, shared breath warm between them, Kurt’s hand light against Blaine’s cheek. 

~*~ 

Paris is a revelation for Blaine, and it’s obvious from the start. It’s not the showy and expected parts -- when Kurt offers to plan a day waiting to climb the tower, Blaine shakes his head and takes Kurt by the hand so they can explore the busy streets of Montmartre. His whole body lightens with every moment they pass. Watching Blaine’s growing infatuation brings Kurt to the edge of a euphoria he never realized himself capable of. 

Here he finds hundreds of new ways to love Blaine, to know Blaine. Here he captures laughter more easy than Blaine’s ever laughed with him before. Witnesses Blaine’s incredible love for food, and his adventurous exploration of any food they come across. In small cafes he tries cheeses Kurt would never touch, smiling through each discovery, even the ones he dislikes. 

He finds small places to enjoy. They spend days in Le Marais discovering restaurants and nightlife Kurt hadn’t thought to look into; at Monsier Henri they drink wine until they’re loose limbed, and when Blaine pulls him close and kisses his neck the way he knows undoes Kurt, he hardly cares that they’re stumbling along the hallway toward their room. 

On their fourth night, Blaine convinces Kurt to visit a cabaret and dance bar that’s especially welcoming of mixed couples and Kurt concedes so long as he gets to dress Blaine. 

“White,” he says, looking Blaine over thoughtfully. His skin has darkened in the sun, a richer olive that makes his teeth seem dazzling and his eyes a brighter hazel. 

“Just white?” Blaine says. “Wow, I didn’t see that coming, you always want me in so many colors.” 

“Shush,” Kurt motions him closer, “and come here.” 

He dresses Blaine in a sort of rumpled and casual way, then khol rims his eyes and loosens his curls. The result is a beautiful dichotomy of innocence with highlighted sensuality and beauty. It’s incredibly hard to leave the hotel once he’s done. In fact, he wants nothing more than to take it all off and fuck Blaine blind, doing his best to entice Blaine back out of his clothes with kisses and light touches, thumbs running up the exposed V of his unbuttoned shirt. 

Laughingly, Blaine pulls away away and begs to go. Despite putting on the breaks, Blaine spends the night flirting, teasing Kurt until he’s dizzy with it. As the lights flash bright colored in the darkened room, they reflect and spin over a multitude of wings in a dazzling array of colors. Kurt had never suspected Blaine could dance like he does; liquid and sensual, rolling his body easily against Kurt, close enough that their shared body heat rises by increments until they’re sheened in sweat. Blaine drapes Kurt’s arms over his shoulders and loosens him into the music. 

They end the night in a dark corner plastered against each other, kisses lush and intimate and too much for public; Blaine has him so worked up, the atmosphere so different and open, Kurt hardly cares that they’re putting on their own show. Blaine drags him out with a tug on his skinny tie, and when they return to their room, he blows Kurt against the door so slowly and thoroughly Kurt is sobbing pleasure and begging shamelessly before it’s over. 

After, when he’s trembling down from it, Blaine uses his finger to clean a stray drop of come and licks it off. He’s on his knees, eyes glittering and coy. 

“Will you fuck me now?” 

Kurt gasps, still recovering from the free fall after orgasm. 

“Blaine you just made me come my brains out,” he manages. 

“It’ll take some time. We can take our time, getting me ready,” Blaine says. He rises from his knees, unsteady from being on them so long. 

“Honey, are you sure?” Kurt pulls him closer, dusts kisses over the bridge of his nose. Blaine’s never asked to bottom before. 

“If I wasn’t,” Blaine pulls back and winks, smirk and eyes all come hither and hot promise. He shimmies out of his pants and works his shirt off, sliding it slowly off of his arms and letting it drop to the floor, “I wouldn’t ask.” 

~*~ 

It does take time. Blaine instructs him the whole time, voice increasingly breathy and stuttered at they go. He has Kurt stop and start, sometimes just letting his body flutter around Kurt’s fingers while he breathes carefully. He assures Kurt repeatedly when Kurt asks if he’s alright. 

“Don’t worry so much,” Blaine smiles at him and rocks onto Kurt’s fingers slowly. Kurt brushes his fingers over Blaine’s cock, which is mostly soft. “I know what I need. You’ll see.” 

And he does when Blaine climbs over him, sinking tremblingly down onto Kurt’s dick and then rocking down onto it, rolling his hips over and over, eyes burning and trembling shut. He shivers with rising pleasure, cock stirring and filling until it’s leaking in small pulses. Behind Blaine Kurt can see his wings shift, vibrating with each escalated moan. Kurt senses his own body as an instrument in a way he never has before, as a tool made for Blaine’s satisfaction as much as his own. 

When Blaine starts to ride him hard, Kurt grips his hips and watches helplessly. It’s been so long since he’s done this. He’s thought before that he’d never forget how good it feels to fuck someone; but when Blaine takes him inside, Kurt realizes that the pleasure he remembers is nothing like the immediacy of Blaine’s body drawing him in and clenching around him. 

“Yeah, _oh_ \--” Kurt says, “that’s it B-Blaine. Uh- _uhhh_ , oh _shit_ , take me, _use_ m-me.” 

Blaine’s head rolls back a bit, eyes closed. He braces his hands on Kurt’s stomach, works his pelvis harder and faster, rising and slamming himself over Kurt’s cock. 

“Oh god, Kurt, oh _god_ ,” Blaine grinds out. His whole body tightens; under Kurt’s gripping thumbs he can feel the clenching of his pelvic muscles, and around his cock the way Blaine’s body starts to flutter and then pulse so hard it wrings another orgasm from Kurt just as Blaine’s pleasure crests, wings spreading to beat with each wave of it. 

~*~ 

Kurt works late into the nights, grateful to Blaine and Sibohann for anticipating this possibility. Blaine’s gotten everything right, the paper Kurt favours and the best pencils. He reads quietly while Kurt works, devouring _A Moveable Feast_ and then asking Kurt to tour tracing Hemingway’s footsteps through restaurants and shops he had frequented once. It’s one of the few really touristy things they do, and while Kurt’s never been that sort of book reader, he’s glad to go for Blaine’s sake. 

Some nights when Kurt sits at his little desk, he turns to watch Blaine from the corner of his eyes. He observes everything, finding something lovely to inspire the lines of a design in the way Blaine’s wings flutter and settle, the way he smiles to himself periodically as he reads, how endearing he is in his matched pajama sets. 

~*~ 

“Can we go see the Arc de Triomphe, do you think?” Kurt asks one night. Blaine’s heavy drowsy against Kurt’s side; they’re watching a movie absently. Kurt’s been whisping his index finger over the rise of Blaine’s wings so lightly Blaine says it’s the best of relaxing pleasure he’s felt in a long time. 

“Of course,” Blaine says, surprised. He looks up at Kurt and Kurt has a hard time reading the look Blaine gives him. “I’ve been picking everything, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Kurt says simply. “That’s what I wanted.” 

“We’ll go tomorrow? I should plan it,” Blaine moves to sit and Kurt holds him, guides him back down. 

“We don’t have to rush. We have a few days.” London had been incredible, but Kurt’s grateful that they chose to spend more time in Paris. 

“Alright,” Blaine brushes a kiss against Kurt’s cheek. 

“I love you,” Kurt says, eyes on Blaine’s. He hasn’t said it often on this trip, no matter how heavy it’s weighed on the tip of his tongue. Blaine’s lip quirks on the left side, eyebrows scrunching in a way that Kurt knows means he’s troubled. Kurt kisses him then, pulls Blaine on top of his body and knows Blaine loves him too; knows saying it is so frightening for him because he has no idea how to make promises when he feels responsible for what Kurt might do, and the ramifications. 

Kurt kisses him until Blaine is panting, then touches him everywhere. He brings Blaine close, then pulls away to feather light kisses along his damp collarbone and the corners of his mouth. His fingers and lips work hard to try to erase Blaine’s fears, to show him how safe they can be together, and how hard Kurt will work for it, how Kurt loves him more than everything else. How he knows he can withstand any losses; any loss other than Blaine. 

Blaine gasps, edging into a sort of pleasure delirium when Kurt slips his finger inside; he’s teased Blaine with his tongue softly, up and around the head of his cock, mouthing at his balls and the shallow convex insides of his thighs. Blaine is tight, wound up and up with it, tight but needing and Kurt barely had to work to get one finger in; Blaine’s body pulls it in hungrily. The second is more work, slow and slippery with so much lube. But by the third Blaine can’t seem to take much more teasing. 

“Now,” he rasps, body jerking against the rocking push of Kurt’s fingers, “ _please_ , I can’t much longer.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Kurt kisses Blaine’s belly. “You’re so-” 

“Kurt, I don’t care, I want it,” Blaine says, guiding Kurt until his back is against the headboard and he’s straddling him. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Kurt moans. “Oh god- I” 

“Don’t stop-” Blaine grips Kurt’s shoulders and pulls him in faster than Kurt would go, not when Blaine’s body doesn’t seem capable of receiving so much. But Blaine just arches and breathes out and then his body gives easily. It doesn’t last very long after that; when he comes Blaine bites down on Kurt’s shoulder and shudders so hard through it Kurt almost slips out of him. Kurt holds his dick through each pulse of his orgasm, and when it’s over, Blaine whimpering through the over sensitivity, Kurt drags his hand through the come, using his thumb to spread it over Blaine’s belly as Blaine rocks Kurt in and in and in relentlessly. Shoulder stinging and eyes closed in concentration Kurt gives himself over to it. Blaine is whispering through it, and it’s not until it’s over that Kurt registers the soft _I love you’s_ breaking softly against his skin. 

~*~ 

Kurt has always had a complicated relationship with patience. He’s never felt like a particularly patient person and yet he has had so many movements of his life wherein he had to wait for something; larger wishes like love and success, and smaller ones -- the touch of a fingertip, a day without torment as a teenager. He doesn’t necessarily think patience was what got him through, but sheer stubbornness and a sort of tirelessness and tenacity. He’s always known there was a fire inside himself. At his lowest moments he remembers being terrified by the thought that one more thing might be enough to snuff it out. 

It’s not patience at all that keeps him waiting for Blaine. It’s knowing he can get through, so long as he has Blaine with him some way. It’s the way loving Blaine makes that fire burn so bright and hot and strong. 

They traverse the Champs Elysees slowly, hand in hand. Ahead of them is the Arc and it’s overwhelming in person, even from afar. They’re quiet as they walk, each lost in thought and also taking in everything around them. 

Kurt considers love; the nature of it, how it’s so frightening because he knows that at any moment, his heart might slip through Blaine’s fingers and shatter on the floor. He watches the people who pass them, taking in the brightest colors and those rushing by, and it all feels so fast. Nearby are pigeons scattered along the pavement, and he imagines them nesting and just born, the risk of leaving the nest to fly for the first time. 

For the first time Kurt is scared when he says it; for the first time he really feels the shape of his heart in Blaine’s hands when he stops Blaine with a tug of his hand, and whispers in his ear urgently. 

“I love you,” he says, choosing to trust 

“I know,” Blaine whispers back and Kurt has to rest his head on Blaine’s shoulder. They’re not quite what Kurt wants, but the words are tinder he tucks inside and that fire glows steadily. 

~*~ 

Blaine is so in love with Paris. He inhabits his skin here completely, easily. He loves the locals, stumbles over the language and laughs through the indulgent shopkeepers who roll their eyes but can’t resist his charm. He pulls Kurt into him at an intersection and kisses him slowly and Kurt thinks of the promises he made Blaine when he proposed this trip; it’s exhilarating and astonishing to have Blaine giving them to him as well. 

~*~ 

He’ll never quite know what it was, what changed. They’ve visited Cafe des 2 Moulin’s, Blaine laughing brightly when Kurt admits he’s never seen the movie. He makes Kurt promise they can watch it that night; by now Kurt will do pretty much anything Blaine asks. He’s saturated and besotted by Blaine walking the streets of Montmartre and the flush of wine in the afternoons in cafes. 

It’s a little too much champagne as they celebrate their last full day that evening at Des Boulles Sinon Rien that brings Kurt to run his fingers along the fringed edge of Blaine’s wing. Blaine shivers and indulges Kurt in a secret smile. The deep turquoise of one feather hinting through the iridescence of white is tempting and stunning and soft under the pad of his index finger. Blaine offers him a bit of cheese and Kurt eats it from his fingers, kissing them fleetingly. 

“I love you all the time,” Kurt says softly, “but especially here.” 

When they stand to leave, Blaine runs his finger over the brooch on the lapel of Kurt’s jacket. 

“New?” 

“No,” Kurt says. It’s simple, made to replicate an origami crane; like many of his pins, he only wears in in a particular mood. 

“What do they symbolize?” 

“Immortality. Those who transform into immortals and journey,” Kurt answers. 

“You didn’t have them in the show.” 

“Hmm,” Kurt says a little flirtatiously, covering the sudden rush of vulnerability. “Maybe next time. I understand some things better now.” 

“Like?” Blaine slips his fingers between Kurt’s and they walk slowly toward the hotel. 

“Things that don’t end,” Kurt says. 

“I thought that was the point. Transformation instead of endings.” 

“It was. But maybe some things don’t change, even when we do. Maybe they persist.” Kurt stops to look at Blaine. Thinks of his mother; he’s wondered for so long where her gentle spirit and the tenor of her voice had gone. He’s carried her with him this whole time though, hasn’t he? 

“Is that what this is?” Blaine gestures between them, touches Kurt’s chest carefully. 

“I do think so, now.” He looks up when he feels something wet land on his arm; rain begins to mist around them. “Thank goodness we are always prepared,” he jokes, unfolding his umbrella. It works; Blaine’s face brightens and it’s suddenly so easy between them. 

When the rain begins in earnest, Blaine huddles under his own umbrella. 

“Maybe we should wait this out-” Kurt says, pointing ahead at the awning of a cafe a bit in front of them. 

Blaine stops suddenly then, “No.” 

“Blaine my pants-” 

“Kurt,” Blaine puts his hand over Kurt’s around the handle of his umbrella. “Everything will change...except for this. Right?” 

Kurt regards him; the sound of rain seems to hush everything else, the chatter of cars rushing past and people ducking out of the rain with exclamations. 

“Absolutely,” he promises. 

“Can we leave it all behind?” Blaine begs. “Come here, or anywhere like this, and start over?” 

Kurt feels the breath leave his body in a sudden swoop, his muscles buzz with the exit of a tension he’s carried since London. Blaine kisses him and Kurt’s whole body rises to meet it and they break the kiss when Kurt starts laughing. 

“Yes,” his cheek is warm against Blaine’s, “yes, _yes_.” 

The wind changes suddenly and the rain comes sideways, bringing with it a shivering chill. Blaine threads his arm through Kurt’s and the look he gives Kurt then feels like hands holding his heart very carefully. Kurt is so glad that he’s chosen trust in various forms from the start. 

Regards him with something careful and watchful in his eyes Blaine smiles simply, then leads Kurt back to the hotel so they can sit down and turn promises into a plan for home. 


End file.
